


and the sun never came up again

by heroinchic



Category: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25949548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroinchic/pseuds/heroinchic
Summary: And it makes me sick, you make me sick, why did you have to leave?Mark killed himself. Simon tries to cope.
Relationships: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton/Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson
Kudos: 11





	and the sun never came up again

Streetlight flickering and sounds of the pub around the corner while Simon was fucking a girl in a dark alley. She was loud, not very attractive, but he needed the relief, the five- or ten-seconds bliss of the orgasm. His strokes were mechanic and without passion or desire. He came inside of her, made a quick excuse to leave while buttoning his pants and left fast as lighting.

The street light went off and he lighted a cigarette, trying to soothe the anxiety produced by the fact that he had to walk home and that meant having to pass for the bridge. He avoided it at all costs, but he didn’t had money for a cab. So walking it was the only option.

His steps were quick and erratic by the booze and the coke, he tried to mumble a tune while he got closer to the bridge, trying to feel carefree, trying to ignore the sinking feeling.

But as soon as he walked towards the start of the bridge, he couldn’t help but froze, cigarrete hanging from his lips. His gaze vacant, while he remembered that day. The day Mark jumped from the border and Simon watched, too late to catch him, too late to save him, the fall didn’t killed him right away, but the train coming below ended the job.

It make him feel sick how Mark had choosed that specific place to kill himself, they used to spend hours sitting at the border smoking and talking, sometimes taking a hit at three in the morning, sometimes kissing, when they were too drunk or high, shivering while they shared a cigarette or a needle.

He kept watching, unable to keep walking, he only took a long drag from the cigarette, cursing the fact that neither the booze or the coke or fucking that girl help him to keep going. Every day since Mark’s death had felt like a challenge to survive. To survive alone.

_They were sitting in the tracks below the bridge, sharing some fags and a bottle of whiskey._

_-What do ye think tha’ is the worse thin’ tha’ can happen tae ye?- Mark asked before passing the mini bottle of whiskey to Sickboy._

_-Gettin’ bald- Simon answered without hesitation, which made Mark have a laugh attack._

_-What u laughin’ bout you cunt? Im serious._

_-Gettin bald Si? From all bad things tha could happen tae you._

_-Yes. Im vain, everyone is vain. Im just proud tae say it. But to add more deepness tae your question, getting bald and ending alone attending my aunt’s pub is the worst thin’ that could happen tae me._

_Mark nodded, serious now._

_-And you?- Simon asked back._

_Renton gaze suddenly was intense, like if he was about to say a secret. Simon pushed his arm playfully to get him back to reality._

_-Dunno- he shrugged, and took a long drink from the bottle._

-Cunt- Simon said out loud to the nothingness around him. The sound of crickets and the cigarette finally consuming before he threw it to the floor. He kept walking, without looking at the border of the bridge, otherwise he would see Mark, a hallucination, a dream, the ghost of what he had lost forever.

-Fucking cunt- he muttered again, anger in his voice this time, repressing a sob on his throat.

-I dreamed of him last night- Diane said.

They were smoking in the park, sitting in the swings. From all people Simon had recurred to keep himself distracted Diane was the only one who helped.

Spud was in rehab from the sixth time, Begbie was finally in jail, and her mother and sisters didn’t help a lot, asking him if he were seeing a therapist as he promised he would.

You see, when you find the suicide note of your bestfriend and you run to the place he said he would do it in the hope to save him but you get there a little to late so you see him fall and being crushed by the tons of a freight train, you can get PTSD or some shit like that, the therapist have told him. That’s why he couldn’t hear a train coming without hyperventilating, that’s why he hadn’t sleep well in months. A normal reaction, everyone said. Normal. Like if life without Mark could ever be normal.

-It was a weird dream -she continued after Simon silence- he was running away from me, I was chasing him by this streets. He was laughing. You know, his laugh. And then I finally catched him and we entered a white room with a record player in the corner, he didn’t talked to me, he just kept laughing and put on a record by Ziggy Pop.

-Its Iggy, Di.

-Yeah, that one. And we seated on the floor, while he kept laughing like a maniac.

Her voice cracked a little bit, she, from all people, had been the most helpful when it all happened. She helped Mark’s mother to arrange the flowers and the service. Simon didn’t show up, not even to the funeral. He spent two weeks laying on the bed without showering and eating only once every couple of days until Diane found him and took him to a hospital where they kept it on suicide watch.

_‘’I don’t want you to leave too Simon, I don’t know you that well. But death can’t stay around’’ she told him when she left him in the hospital and he couldn’t even look at her, angry at the fact that he had to be on suicide watch. That he was getting the help that Mark didn’t._

She took a long drag from the fag and pass it on to Simon.

-Do you ever dream about him?

-I barely sleep Di- he answered tiredly.

-Yeah but, I mean, when you get some sleep do you dream about him?

-Fuck’s sake Diane is this counseling or something? yes I’m going to my fucking therapies and they ask me the same shit you are asking me now.

-Don’t talk to me like that Simon. We both lost him, but you lost him in a different way. I know it was different between you two, I’m just trying to hel-

-Well I don’t need your fucking help. I don’t need anyone’s fucking help. The fuckin doss cunt died and? Who the fuck gave him the right to leave and to make me be your friend? No one. No one gave him the fucking right to leave. No one, no one.

His eyes were full of tears, his voice filled with anger. Diane was composed, but for once she didn’t know what to say.

She nodded and hold his hand. Simon swallowed a sob and threw a bitter laugh, Diane laughed sadly too.

-We are stuck here because we both loved him- she said.

-You don’t know anything about loving him- he said with a cutting tone.

-I know.

-How can you know?

She let go of his hand and shrugged.

-Besides the fact that it was pretty obvious that you two had something going on, he used to tell me stuff.

Simon lighted another fag and motioned to Diane for her to keep talking.

-He once told me that you were the one who made him realize that he liked men, when he was about sixteen or seventeen. He told me that you got very pissed off when you found out that his first kiss with a guy hadn’t been with you. So…

-Yeah, yeah, I get the point- Simon was swinging slowly, looking at the sky, cotton candy clouds remembering those days. The day when Mark told him that he liked men, the day that he found Mark kissing a stupid guy in the bathroom at the pub and the huge fight that they had after that. And all the kisses that followed that.

Later that night, Simon was fucking a guy in the bathroom of a club, eyes closed, head tilted back. The guy had red hair and freckles all over his face, Simon pretended that he had listened his name in the middle of all the blasting music. Sam? Dan? Something like that, it didn’t matter, it only matter the distraction, the cycle of every night, going out, get fucked up, fucking someone, saving money for a cab so he didn’t have to walk across the bridge, and then try to sleep in the cold flat that he once shared with his best friend.

As he cum, and the guy turned around to kiss him he felt a sting of guilt, like if he was cheating on Mark. He pushed the guy with coldness and got out from the bathroom without saying a word, ignoring the various looks from the people that were waiting outside. If he had tears streaming down his face, it was sweat, he wasn’t crying because he fucked a guy who looked like Mark, he wasn’t crying because he felt like he cheated on a dead person.

-Fuckin sweat, its sweat- he muttered, walking towards the exit.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the movie ''The Party's Just Beginning'' i recommend. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
